“I see why you married Sylvie,” Egon quietly said. It wasn't the boredom of location in Yugoslavia, after all. Although dissimilar in physical details, there was a distinct general similarity between his sister and the woman Carey had called for so often when he was sleeping off some overindulgence during his enfant terrible stage. Egon had heard the name “Molly” quite regularly in those days.

“I'd love to sit and discuss my marriage to your sister,” Carey said with a sardonic grin, “but with Rifat's gunmen close on our heels, I suggest we save our skins instead.”

At Mariel's frightened expression, Molly soothingly said, “Carey's pessimistic by nature. I'm sure everything will be fine.”

She should write messages for Hallmark cards, Carey thought, recalling Egon's sports car blown up on his doorstep. “Since there is a possibility of danger, the sooner we leave Le Retour, the better.”

Mariel looked to Egon for explanation. “We'd better leave now to be safe,” he said. “I'll explain on the way to the airport.”

“Are you in trouble with the law?” she queried. There was no reproof in her voice, only concern.

“No.”

“Which is why we have to hurry,” Carey interjected. “The law at least might offer some security. You take this rifle, Egon. I'll take the other, and let's hit the road.”



They were halfway down the outside staircase, the car no more than ten yards away when the AK-47 opened up and blasted the ornate balastrade a foot below them. Mariel screamed. Molly bit back her own cry as Carey whipped his rifle up and fired into the trees where the stream of red tracers originated. “Get back in the house,” he barked, swinging around for a second to see if anyone was hit. “I'll keep them down. Go!” he ordered, and Egon herded them back up the steps while Carey emptied both five cartridge magazines into the trees. He heard the door open and thanked the darkness for saving them. Although the moon was out, sufficient shadow remained to make a moving target hard to hit at that range.

The familiar sound of gunfire had called all of Carey's old reflexes into action. He'd fired into the vortex of the red tracers-dйjа vu, like a vivid movie in his mind. Even the warm, sultry night was the same, only the hordes of mosquitoes were missing. Where the hell were Ant and Luger when he needed them? he thought, crouching down behind the shattered stone railing to load the cartridges he'd stuffed into his pockets.

Reloaded, he scanned the tree line beyond the lawn, watching for movement in the suddenly quiet night. And he knew they were waiting to see what he'd do. For one thing, he'd better change out of this white T-shirt. He gauged the distance up the stairs to the door, slightly ajar now, with a portion of Egon's blond hair visible in the narrow aperture.

Sighting over the warm sandstone, he squeezed off five rapid shots, and then sprinted for the doorway. Egon fired across the lawn into the concealing shrubbery as Carey raced up the stairs in a crouching run, followed by a bursting explosion of flying sandstone as Rifat's men opened fire. Ricocheting bits of stone accompanied Carey's dash inside, and Egon slammed the door shut against the barrage.

“I hope she was worth it,” Carey muttered, pulling Egon away from the door. Even the six solid inches of teak wouldn't stop the AK rounds at close range.

“She was,” Egon replied, his smile brilliant for a man under attack by bloodthirsty brutes who'd kill a man and eat a good breakfast five minutes later.

“It might be your fucking last fuck,” Carey growled, frustrated by the damn timing. Another few minutes and they'd have been gone. “How the hell can you smile like that?”

“I have found bliss,” Egon said. “I recommend it.”

“Great. Glad to hear it. But I don't think the others in this crowd empathize with your current mood.”

Mariel and Molly were huddled against the wall under the stairway, their faces ashen.

“But if some bloody miracle occurs, we might be able to blast our way out of here. How many did you see?”

Egon sobered immediately when he detected Mariel's fear. “I fucked up again, didn't I?” he said, the familiar pain back in his eyes.

Carey was immediately contrite. “Look,” he said with a quick shrug, “maybe it's not so bad. I only saw three I think. How about you?”

Egon sighed. “Three. It's always the same… you have to come and save my ass. I'm sorry, Carey.”

“Hey, hey,” Carey said, taking his arm, “don't bum out on me now. We might manage if there's only three.” Only three, he thought, am I the world's biggest optimist or what? They're fucking Rifat's front line. But he needed Egon functioning, not tripping out in his own little world. “Remember the shoot at Erhard's outside Linz? We paced each other all afternoon. Maybe we can keep them pinned down and pick them off. These custom rifles of your dad's are good for long distances with these full-size cartridges. Hell these are special competition rifles. Can you follow me?”

“Sure, Carey.”

“With conviction now. I want to waste these suckers.”

Egon's smile was faint, but hopeful. “I'll follow you, boss.”

“Good, now let's get the women upstairs and we'll go stalking. Our great advantage is we know this place and they don't. I want to find their car.”

After a swift detour into the study, the women were escorted upstairs past the bedroom floor into the attic. Handing Molly a shotgun and a rifle, Carey said, “These are for protection if you need them. But,” he went on quickly, seeing the apprehension appear in her eyes, “you shouldn't. Just maybe.”

“I can't stand waiting for a footstep on the stairs. Let me come with you.”

Carey's first impulse was to brusquely refuse but that approach never worked with Molly. “Darling,” he said, holding her lightly with one arm around her shoulder, “Mariel's about to lose it over there.” And they both glanced at Mariel shivering in Egon's embrace. “I'm not saying you're not a great shot and we couldn't use you, but we need you here with her.”

“I don't suppose she'll stay here alone.”

“From the looks of it, she's going to fall apart pretty soon, and then Egon's going to get all emotional and I'd prefer that not happen. He can help me flush those guys out of cover; he knows this place inside out. Come on, Honeybear, be a dear and whip that female into shape… Please?”

“They're not going to just go away, are they?” Her words were mild despite their significant content, and she wondered for a moment if she was in shock. Is this normal when being stalked by killers, this unearthly calm?

She must be in shock, Carey decided, she was taking this much too serenely. He'd seen it before, when men started talking about their favorite songs or their girlfriend back home as shells started exploding. Shit. “Are you going to be all right? I've got to drag Egon out of here.”

“I'm fine.”

Oh Christ, he thought, looking at her standing there with a weapon in each hand, a pleasant smile on her face and that damn placid voice. He loved her more than anything, and he had to leave her here whether she could handle it or not; if he didn't move real fast, it was going to be over. “Thanks,” he said in lieu of dragging her into his arms and never letting her go.

It took another few moments to persuade Egon to loosen his embrace. With an imploring glance over Egon's head, he silently asked Molly for help. Setting down the guns, she walked over and put a hand on Mariel's shoulder. “Egon, Mariel and I will be safe here.”

“We'd better go,” Carey declared, placing a heavy hand on Egon's arm. “We won't be long,” he added with theatrical confidence. “Let's hit it.” He felt like a goddamn coach at halftime, but the conclusion of this game was slightly more terminal, especially if he didn't pry Egon loose soon.

At last, Egon slowly relinquished his hold.

“Hurry back,” Molly said with a bracing smile. Now she knew how the eternal female felt sending her man off to war.

“Take care,” Carey murmured so only she could hear, “and don't let anyone in that door.” The intensity of his tone was steel hard.

“Don't worry,” Molly replied, warring impulses battling within her. “Good luck,” she softly added as the door closed behind the men.

While she didn't consider herself some Amazon warrior, neither did she relish the idea of passively waiting to see whether Carey and Egon were killed. Certainly with three enemies outside they could use another weapon on their side. Although life and death situations were distinctly foreign to Molly's repertoire, she'd always prided herself on responding well to crises. She could help; she knew she could. And she was going to.

“Mariel, I'm going with them. They could use another rifle. Can you shoot this if you have to?” Surprised at her solid conviction, Mariel's answer was unimportant. She was going.

When Mariel nodded, it was as though the movement confirmed Molly's resolution. “If it will help Egon, I'll do it,” she said in a very small voice. “They're after him, aren't they?”

“Only because he owns a munitions factory,” Molly clarified. “Otherwise he wouldn't be involved with men like those. Here, now look, this is all you have to do.” And she placed the semi-automatic gun in her hands. “If a stranger comes through that door, pull the trigger.”

Straightening her shoulders, she called on all her reserves of strength. “I'll manage. Now go, before you lose them.” And, pulling up a dust-covered chair, she sat down and aimed the gun barrel at the door.

Molly glanced back once before she left and gave her an encouraging smile. Mariel was rigid as a mannequin, but the determination on her face was resolute.

With her adrenaline and heart pumping at maximum speed, Molly ran down the attic stairs, hoping Carey and Egon hadn't gotten too far ahead of her. But if they had, she'd already decided to exit the house through the study doors facing the veranda. Maybe she could serve as backup if Carey and Egon flushed the men out of hiding. The rifle felt solid in her hand as she paused on the second floor to listen for sounds. Nothing. The silence held an ominous quality; she knew that predators could be closing in, and were perhaps already in the house.

She was more careful descending the staircase to the main floor, keeping close to the wall. Her ears were alert to any noise. At the last step she paused before leaving the protection of the wall. Her approach to the study across the open area of the entrance hall was not conducive to stealth. With the shiny black-and-white marble of the floor, her footsteps would be audible. Certainly she'd be an easy target once she stepped out into the open foyer.

Apprehensively she took her first step away from the wall and listened, her rifle held defensively, her finger on the trigger. Utter silence. Even the outdoor night sounds of frogs and crickets were muted by the thick stone walls. Just as she was about to make her dash across the large expanse of marble to the study, she heard a man's voice, and she moved back one step to the protection of the wall. She waited another slow count of twenty, but the sound was not repeated.

She couldn't stand pressed against the wall forever. Gathering her courage, she raced toward the study across the thirty feet of marble, through the partially open door into the sights of two rifles poised to fire.

Catching a glimpse of the rifle barrel and two shadowy forms, she dove for the floor just as she heard Carey mutter, “Oh, Christ…”

As she lay on the floor, he stalked over and stood silently over her, making no effort to help her up.

“You could have been killed,” he growled.

“So could you,” she replied. She knew damn well she'd come within a hair's breath of being shot; her pulse rate was still loud as a gang war in her ears, and she was bordering on hysteria.

He'd put a hunting jacket over his white T-shirt so he was dressed all in khaki. The only color catching the moonlight was his pale hair.